


darkest before the dawn

by year_of_the_pineapple



Series: post-apocalypse [3]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, Gen, General, I'm Bad At Tagging, Part 3, Post-Apocalypse, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/year_of_the_pineapple/pseuds/year_of_the_pineapple
Summary: A few years after the apocalypse, Soul and Maka attempt to navigate their new normal and stay alive at all costs. They just didn't expect to have to deal with separation anxiety; a very troublesome black cat; and the dawning of an all-out war on the horizon.- PART THREE OF A SERIES -
Relationships: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Series: post-apocalypse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671649
Comments: 15
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**I'm back! Apologies for the delay. I needed a break from this fic.**

**This is the third part of a series.**

**Part 1 is called 'after the sun goes down' and part 2 is called 'moonrise'. Please read those first because this will make no sense otherwise, or don't - it's up to you!**

* * *

They're parked near a motel roadside, somewhere in the Ozarks. A little mom'n'pop operation, really quaint. Or at least, it used to be. Now it was home to memories that belonged to nobody. And as far as Soul can tell, a hell of a lot of spiders.

Like, an uncomfortable amount.

He's on watch duty tonight. Black Star's inside the van, sleeping – or he assumes so, anyway. It wouldn't surprise him if Black Star conked straight out the moment his head hit the pillow – it's been that kind of week. At least three days of out five seemed to be spent either running away from, or fighting, huge zombie hoards.

There had been a few close scrapes, too. Black Star almost got his leg bitten. Soul had crashed their last van into a tree trying to make a quick getaway, and to top it off – they had had to leave behind their last remaining supply of nutrient drinks.

Which meant that they had to start scrounging for food left right and centre again.

Hence the motel, and also hence the fact that they had decided not to sleep in it tonight.

It's a humid evening, and there's a lot of insects buzzing around. Cicadas, Soul identifies. Probably. He's never been too much into entomology, or any biology really.

He shuffles uncomfortably where he sits. The tree he's propped up against isn't offering particularly thorough back support, and the gun resting against his knee is getting heavy.

He can't fall asleep.

They're getting smarter.

In Arizona, two zombies had laid a trap for them, chasing them into a dead end.

In Kansas, they'd jumped on top of the van, causing Soul to crash into the tree and have to make a break for it.

Who knows what they were capable of? Lying in wait for Soul to slowly nod off didn't seem so far-fetched, now.

He keeps his left arm in scythe form, just in case. Every time he hears the trees rustle, or the sound of a bat's wings flapping, he swears that his blade sharpens just a little. All week, he couldn't shake the feeling that they're being watched, or followed. All week, they've been chasing some invisible entity – just a compass, albeit a magical one, guiding them somewhere that even they don't know.

Supposedly to the witches lair. _Supposedly_ , because Soul doesn't believe anything anyone tells him anymore.

Least of all someone from the academy.

Black Star is alright company, he supposes. They have a pretty good time, when they aren't having to fight or flee for their lives, that is. He's always gotten along pretty well with Star – even back during their academy days, they were close friends.

But it doesn't stop him from missing Maka. Or regretting the way that he had just left, out of the blue. Or wondering why she had chosen to stay, instead of come with him.

He knows it's probably for the best. She's safer there, and besides – it wasn't like they even knew each other that well, or anything. They'd really only known each other for a couple of months, saved each other lives a couple times, kissed a few times… it wasn't a big deal.

Soul leans his head back so that his head gently thumps against the hardened bark, his hair softening the collision; folding in on itself.

He's lying to himself.

Of course Maka was a big deal. _Is_ a big deal. There was something about her that he'd never experienced with anyone else; an instant connection. Soul would have called it soul bonding, but he didn't know what that felt like.

Black Star misses Tsubaki too, he thinks. He doesn't talk about it very openly – hell, that wasn't really his manner, but every now and then he'll get this look in his eye, and say something like 'Tsubaki would have done it like this', so Soul can tell that he's missing her at least a little.

It's hard not to miss the academy, despite the circumstances. Soul likes travelling, but even this was… something else. Running from place to place, hardly ever speaking because one of you always had to be on watchdog duties; close shave after close shave.

He's losing hair.

And for what?

They're following, what, a compass? A magical _fucking_ compass?

They're going round in circles. Soul can feel it. He doesn't know how to tell Black Star, the boy seemed absolutely convinced that they're heading in the right direction, but Soul knows it.

They passed this roadside motel a few days ago, and then circled back.

Either the compass doesn't work, or…

Or the threat is following them around.

Soul's not sure which one he's more comfortable with, honestly.

They're playing a waiting game, and he knows it. He just hopes that they can find something in time to warn Kid, and maybe then, he can protect Maka. Better than he could protect her at the academy, anyway.

* * *

The next morning, Black Star raids the motel basement while Soul keeps watch. He emerges maybe twenty minutes later, proudly presenting his haul in his knapsack.

"Look!" he exclaims, over-excitedly. "Peanut-butter!" he grins, ear-to-ear. It makes sense that he's excited about peanut butter. There wasn't a lot of genuine comfort food still kicking around these days, and peanut butter was a particularly good find. It was tasty, high calorie and didn't expire.

"Milk powder…" Soul comments drily, sifting through the bag with a heavy hand. "You really think that will have kept?"

"Maybe it's a long shot," Black Star shrugs. He digs through the bag and tosses a glass jar towards Soul, who catches it. "Here, you might need this."

"Coffee…" he reads the label. "Good idea. These night shifts are getting hard."

"Take it easy, dude, I'll drive us out of Missouri today. But next week we switch, and you're gonna want some of this ambrosia," he warns. He zips up the rest of his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. "Look, potentially expired milk aside, I think it's a pretty good haul. It's better than the last place," he pauses, thoughtfully. "I just wish that I could find some protein powder."

Trust Black Star to worry about his muscle gains during the apocalypse.

Soul has to laugh at that, slapping the back of his hand against Black Star's arms good-naturedly. "You are losing muscle tone," he says eyeing up his friend.

"Hey, like you can talk Mr. My-Arms-Are-Soba-Noodles."

"Hey, come on. I'm at least udon," he corrects, rolling his eyes. "Yours are like vermicelli."

"You wish!"

They continue this back and forth for a few more gripes as they load their stuff into the car, Soul carefully placing his larger gun on the backseat and then following suite. Black Star was driving today, so he might as well try to get _some_ sleep, while he has the chance.

Staying up for twenty-four hours at least once a week had become the norm, now, but it didn't change the fact that his body was screaming out for rest.

"You sleeping?" Black Star adjusts his rearview mirror, darting a glance towards Soul in it.

"Yeah," he mumbles, feeling his head already falling against the headrest.

The engine kicks into gear, the soft rumbles lulling Soul gently into slumber. He's just awake enough to hear Black Star mumble something to him.

"Night night, Soul-y. Don't let the zombies bite."

"Yeah, yeah. Drive safe," he mutters back, and then sleep consumes him.

* * *

That night, they set up camp roadside. Black Star drives them to a nice suburban location; somewhere to relax. There's a small town nearby, but no name sign. The map places them around somewhere called 'Warrenton'. There's a few shops, a couple of housing estates, not a huge amount else. It's fine, the less bustling the area, the less likely they are to meet zombies.

It's still hot, although the weather is a little cooler today. Soul's a Cali boy, so he's used to the stifling heat, but Black Star seems relieved by the break in the weather. He lived in Ohio before coming to Nevada, so he's not as accustomed to it.

They park up and Soul grabs his guns, and his bag – in that order. "C'mon. Let's hit up some houses."

"You need me to come with?" Black Star asks, as the two boys assess their surroundings. Sure, it seemed quiet on this leafy suburban road. But that didn't necessarily equate to safety. Soul decides to err on the side of caution with this one.

"Sure."

They load up on ammo and head out. Hit a few houses, climb in windows. A few weeks ago, they had fallen into a routine with this kind of stuff. Black Star earned his 'ninja assassin' title for a reason, so he tends to do the creeping around, scoping out a place. Soul's better in single combat, so he keeps watch. It works, more or less.

Soul stands with his back against the wall as Black Star shimmies up a drainpipe, allowing him to reach the second floor. Despite how long they've known each other, Soul still begrudgingly finds it impressive; his ability to squeeze into the tiniest places with no problem. Black Star scales to the window; grips with his white gloves on the top of the window frame. He uses his feet to slide the bottom of the window open and then swings outwards, throwing himself inside feet-first.

He's gone.

Soul stares out into the dark.

He waits a couple minutes. After that time, he hears a sound inside the house, which worries him, because Black Star is usually dead silent when he's in full creep mode.

"Fuck," he says under his breath.

There's a noise. Something's coming from inside the trees.

Soul readies his gun.

There's a moment of silence; the calm before the storm, and then it all happens at once. Twenty, maybe twenty-five infected leap out from a gap in the trees, bursting and spilling out onto the road, running towards him.

They ran in a limping, slow manner – so he manages to take out three, maybe four, with shots. He runs out of bullets and with no time to reload, he throws the gun down on the ground and transforms his arm, holding it out in front of him like a shield.

As they approach, he jumps from side to side, slashing where possible and dodging others. The neck, he thinks in the action. He has to go for the neck – that's the only way to cut off blood supply to the brain.

He stabs his entire blade through the throat of a larger one on his left but one to his right grabs his other arm, pulling him.

"Fuck!" he yells out. His arm transforms in a flash and the zombie grasping tightly onto it screams and lets out. "Fuck you!"

He's backed up against a wall, so movement is limited, but a few more slashes of his blade buy him some time – he pulls his other gun out of his pocket and sends a few more shots. His aim isn't amazing at this range, he only manages to shoot about two of them.

"Black Star!" he yells out.

The sound of four gunshots and breaking glass surprise him.

Four zombies fall to the ground. Soul doesn't crane his neck up look; he doesn't need to. A second later, Black Star comes hurtling out the window he's just shot from, landing in a deep squat a few yards from Soul. The zombies doesn't seem to notice him – God bless that ninja training, Soul thinks – and Soul keep warding off their attacks as Black Star shoot one by one from a distance away.

Soul growls in exertion as he notices that there doesn't seem to be less zombies than there were before. They're still coming, he realises.

"Get the car!" he yells out, jamming his blade into one's head and slicing it in two equal parts.

Black Star nods, sprinting round as Soul keeps struggling to hold them all off. It's getting harder and harder, he can feel that his control on the situation is waning as they outnumber him increasingly and his attacks become repetitive. One grabs him on the neck, almost bites him, and on instinct his left leg shoots up to kick it full in the face. He hears its jaw break under his heavy boots, but now's not exactly the time for squeamishness.

The rumble of the van provides immeasurable relief. Black Star drives round in a large donut round the road, and then manages to hit at least ten of them with the bumper. Then he stops, quickly reverses back and goes in for round two.

"JUMP IN!" he yells from the driver seat, and Soul scrambles for a way to get through the hoard. "USE YOUR BLADE AS COVER!" he yells, just as Soul spots him pulling his AK assault rifle into view, aiming through the passenger side window.

"Fuck," Soul swears, and transforms both his arms, crouching as much of his body as he can manage behind his blade – namely his chest and head – and feeling the bullet spray that erupts. It mostly bounces off from his metal but he feels one shot graze his shoulder, and he roars in agony.

"GET IN!"

Soul doesn't waste time. He springs up from where he's been trapped for at least ten minutes, leaving behind his dropped gun, and throws himself inside the open window for the passenger seat. "Gas," he says, rather redundantly, because Black Star already has his foot to the floor.

They drive like maniacs fleeing the scene of a crime for the next twenty minutes of suburban road. Soul wonders if speed cameras still work, but then deduces that given that the country's electricity board hadn't been active for years, figures that it was almost impossible that they did.

Still. He likes to this that there's a traffic control officer rolling in his grave right now.

They start to slow down after an hour.

"We're running outta gas," Black Star comments, staring at the fuel gauge.

"We'd better find somewhere else to set up shop."

"Or a new van?" Black Star peers out of the corner of his eye. "I don't want to stop now," he admits, his eyes fixated on the compass which they've placed on the dashboard. "Wait," he pauses. "This thing is broken. We're going in circles."

A sigh escapes Soul. "The compass? Yeah. Pretty much."

"No, I'm serious, dude. It's telling us to go North West. It was taking us North East this whole time. Why is it now changed its mind?" he frowns. "I don't get it. We're supposed to be following magic."

"Maybe the magic is moving?"

"Well, how the fuck are supposed to know if we're just following a trap, then?" Black Star wonders, his eyes narrowing into small, suspicious slits as he holds the weighted compass in his hands, shaking it to and fro. Soul snatches it off him.

"Stop it. That isn't going to help," he says.

"You sound like Maka,"

"Thanks, idiot," Soul rolls his eyes. "Look, I don't know what to tell ya. It's been busted for a while. Didn't you ever notice?"

"No! You should've told me!"

"We were doing opposite shifts."

"You could've said something. Left a fuckin' note. Jesus, Soul, we're driving nowhere. We're following a fucking compass to nowhere."

Soul shrugs. "It wanted us to go North East consistently for at least the first week. Since then, it's been kind of all over the place."

Their eyes meet uncomfortably.

"So…" Black Star starts, not really wanting to speak his mind, but deciding he probably should anyway. "You think maybe they… found _us_?"

Soul shrugs. "It's possible."

"So why have we been driving this whole time?!"

"Because," Soul drawls. "What else is there to do?"

"Not waste our frickin' time chasing nothing, that's what!" Black Star yelps out, stamping his foot on the brake in annoyance. They lurch forward into an uncomfortable stop in the middle of the road. "What the fuck, Soul?"

"What do you want me to do about it? I don't have a plan, here, past staying the fuck alive."

"Jesus. Don't you care about any of this? About Maka? About the fuckin' academy?"

"I do care. I just don't have a plan."

Black Star runs his hands through his greasy blue hair and cools himself. He looks around at their surroundings, but it's almost completely pitch black, save for the headlights. "Right."

"Hey, I… I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot," Black Star says through his teeth.

"Did you get the feeling, the last few weeks… that something's been following us?" Soul says tentatively, taking a conspiratorial glance behind the rearview window. Mostly for effect, because vision is about 0% right now.

Black Star pauses, his hands still gripping the wheel. "I… I…" he stammers. "I mean, yeah, man. I thought it was just me being paranoid. You're telling me you felt that too?"

"Yup," Soul nods. "The whole time. It's kind of one of the reasons I was happy to just keep driving. I was trying to get away from it. But it kept coming back."

"Man, it's like eyes are on me. Even… even now. You know what I mean?"

Soul swallows. "Yes."

There's a protracted, ominous silence between the two of them.

Black Star chuckles. "Man, dead of night was the wrong time to talk about this, huh?" he laughs, blowing air out through his cheeks. "But whatever dude. Let's not panic. Let's just find another vehicle and I'll drive us 'til morning, kay?"

Soul shakes his head. "You really want to get out the car right now?" he asks.

"Why not? If whoever… or whatever's…. been following us since Nevada, there's no reason that they would stop and attack us now, right?" he reasons. "It could be friendly."

Soul barks a laugh, but there's very little humor in it. "Friendly?" he scoffs. "I doubt it," he announces, opening the van door and grabbing their worldly possessions, scooping most of them into his bag and carrying the rest in his hands. "I'm willing to bet that whatever is following us is a witch. Given the weird behaviour of that compass, anyway."

Black Star shrugs. "Well, whatever," he says, feigning nonchalance. "It's you and me. We can take on a damned witch. We can take on a whole…. flock of witches if we need to!"

"It's called a coven, sweetie~" a voice purrs from the darkness.

Black Star drops everything in his hands and screams. The noise causes bats to flutter from trees, and Soul to jam his finger in his ear; scowling.

"What the fuck!" Black Star hisses. "Who the fuck are you?!" he scrambles to pick up his gun and takes two shots out towards where the voice had come from.

Soul stays very still for a moment, and then takes a step forward.

" _Blair_?" he asks, his voice carrying far into the dimpsy night. "Is that you?"

Out of the darkness, a black fluffy cat materialises near their feet. It entwines itself silkily around Soul's ankles, a little smirk playing on it's feline features as Black Star keeps his trembling gun focused on it.

"I missed you, Soul-kun~"


	2. Chapter 2

Some people hate routine. They spend their whole lives thinking up new and creative ways to escape it – new hobbies, new friends, new relationships. Life before the apocalypse was rife with people trapped in ruttish little schedules – wake up, eat your oatmeal, go to work, go to the gym, eat dinner, go to bed. Maybe drinking a little on weekends, maybe vegging out in front of the TV. Pick your poison.

Maka thinks back to all of those people with their sad little routines; all those hours spent at work grinding down the hours before you could get home and finally be yourself, and for what? A measly little paycheck? A sense of self-worth? Some idea of the perfect life?

And for _what_?

They all got sick and died anyway. Athletes, supermodels, office workers, pensioners, children…

Dead.

Well, that's not strictly speaking true, actually. Many of them _were_ alive, in some form. Not really a life, though, is it? Maka severely doubts that zombies had very much in the way of consciousness – whatever personality any of those zombies had had before the outbreak, the virus had scooped out and replaced with an insatiable, feral hunger for violence and flesh.

What had it all been for, then? Maka herself had had a routine, too. Studying, most of the time. Completing her internship at the law practice. Soccer, she had liked to play soccer – twice a week with her club back in Maryland. It feels so stupid, now, all the things she used to want. The things she used to work for.

But routine has a funny way of finding you, wherever you are.

Maka clings onto it like it's her only hope. A strict training protocol, seven hours a day, every day. What for? She still wonders. Is it a sense of retribution? Maybe if she trains hard enough, she can forgive herself for staying here and letting Soul leave her behind. Maybe if she trains hard enough, they can beat the witches; beat the virus and somehow emerge victorious. Then maybe she could see him again, the white-haired stranger who plucked her from obscurity and turned her life upside-down.

It wasn't like she hadn't want to go with him, either. A part of her had desperately wanted to follow him wherever he went, spend as much time as it took travelling from place to place, never looking back.

It could have been fun. It could have made her happy.

A larger part of her knew, deep down, that she needed routine. She needed structure. She needed stability; a purpose; a life. All the things that she'd been lacking for so many years after the apocalypse, trapped in her miserable little existence, no hope of any sort of return to normality…

No.

This is her life, now.

She chose a home over endless travel.

She chose safety over instability.

She chose routine over chaos.

She made that choice, and she has to live with it.

* * *

After Soul up and left, things had deteriorated pretty rapidly.

Firstly, one of the witches in the dungeon – a certain _Medusa_ , she's told – had managed to escape. She was helped, that's what Kid had said, by another weapon. Not a witch but… not quite _not_ a witch, either.

' _It'_ went by the name of Crona, and ' _it'_ was now residing in the dungeons in the cell that had previously belonged to Medusa, who herself was nowhere to be seen. There was some concern that she was still on academy grounds, but Stein disputed that pretty quickly. Medusa had a penchant for chaos, he said. There's no way that she could have been sitting still without causing any problems for this long.

Speaking of which, Patty was hurt badly. She's been in the infirmary for quite a few weeks now following their little meeting in the dungeons.

Maka doesn't know any details; doesn't want to. Liz hadn't wanted to talk about it, and besides, she's got her own training schedule to follow.

Maka just thanks God that Marie had been patrolling round the dungeons, or both of them would be dead, and the academy would have no leads at all to follow.

The second thing that had happened, a few days after that incident, was that the moon had turned red.

Yep, the moon. Turned red.

Kid took that as a declaration of war – a sign that an all-out battle was approaching and approaching fast. Training really kicked up a notch, then. Suddenly the town was a living thing again - with marching troops; people freaking out; other people preparing for doomsday. Children were kept inside, unless they were over sixteen and could wield a weapon.

It was crazy. People were fighting over what meagre supplies were left, clawing and scratching for any weapon they could get their hands on.

As if a frying pan is an effective defence against a squadron of highly trained witches.

And then… _nothing_. _Nothing_ had happened for a week, now.

The city is filled with a nervous energy. Kid, he sits in his office for at least eleven hours a day, now. Scheming, planning, discussing tactics, freaking out…

Maka isn't really nervous, not like she should be. Not overtly, anyway, which makes everyone around her _more_ nervous.

She does what she's always done when the going gets tough -she throws herself into training, hard. Builds up her skills. Meets with Professor Stein, who teaches her about weapons and meisters in the evening classes. It's surreal. It's like one of her fantasy books, not that she spends much time reading these days.

Come nightfall she's so tired that she falls asleep the second that her head touches that pillow. It's like she's in trance; not quite awake, not quite dreaming.

"Aren't you a _little_ bit scared?" Tsubaki asks her, one Saturday afternoon. They're running through some battle practice, so it could just as well be a Monday morning. Days blurred here, and Maka's running on autopilot. They're technically resonating, although weakly, so Maka can hear the faint rumble of her anxious thoughts. She continues. "Maka, something like this has never _happened_ before. Even at the academy, and we've had some pretty crazy stuff happening…"

Maka shrugs, trying not to get distracted. "First time for everything," she mumbles, a little preoccupied as she jabs the sword forward three times, practising the move. "We'll be fine. We're a great team!"

Tsubaki rolls her eyes. She's become used to being Maka's weapon, more or less. It wasn't anything like being Black*Star's weapon – there was _much_ less command, there. Maka wasn't as cocksure as Black Star always was, but she was harder, somehow. More brittle, too.

It wasn't all roses and sunshine. Maka's cool, logical brain tended to overpower Tsubaki's gentle and intelligent one, resulting in friction through the bond for both of them. Occasionally, Maka wanted Tsubaki to do something that she wasn't capable of just yet - or vice versa. Their individual nuances and respective limits weren't yet mutually understood.

But there's not exactly any other viable options, so they make do.

After practice, they take a break together – staring out at the desert from the high hill next to Hook Cemetery. Maka cracks the spine on a history book while Tsubaki pensively looks at the view and sighs, wondering whether she should attempt to initiate conversation.

"Do you miss him?" she blurts out out of the blue, surprising herself.

"Who?" Maka doesn't look up from her book, but she's not exactly reading either.

Tsubaki rolls her eyes, unseen. "I'm talking about Soul," Tsubaki answers. "You two were close. It's understandable that you might have had an attachment…"

"He's probably dead," Maka says, her eyes flashing darkly, still not deigning to look up.

Tsubaki bites her lip, clearly upset. "Why would you say that?"

"Zombies everywhere," she chews on her lip, flipping the page on her book. She's only pretending to read, now, but she grips tightly to the façade.

Tsubaki shakes her head, her plait cascading to and fro down her back as she does. "I don't know about that. Soul survived on his own for a long time, you know. And he's got Black Star with him, too, which probably increases their individual chances of survival," she pauses and ruminates for a second. "Unless Soul snapped and killed Black Star – which _is_ a possibility," Tsubaki smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Well… I miss him. A lot, sometimes. Even though he's a pain in the ass."

Maka's eyebrow tilts up curiously and for the first time, she actually looks up from her book. "Soul?"

"Black Star," Tsubaki corrects, biting her lip. "I mean, obviously I miss Soul. He's my friend. But… I hadn't seen him for ages before they left. It's not… I mean, it's not that different. Not having him here."

"You aren't annoyed at them for leaving?"

"No."

"Why not?" Maka frowns, sitting up. "It was their _choice_ to leave us. The school. Civilisation. Security," Maka's eyes flash. "I still can't understand why he left…"

"I don't know. I think that Soul... he doesn't like feeling trapped," Tsubaki explains. "A place like this, it's not his natural environment. I think... he felt that he was better off staying on his feet. He's probably right," Tsubaki shrugs. "I mean, I can see what he means. Some days I just want to leave; get out of this city. It's so small and cramped these days."

"What was it like before?"

"It was so…" Tsubaki smiles and sighs wistfully. "Free. People were able to be who they wanted to be; in a world which couldn't handle it," she pauses. "A haven for people who had never felt like they fitted in anywhere else. Now… now it's something else.

"It's a ghost town full of empty husks," Maka agrees, the tone shifting to a darker one. "People who miss their families."

Maka looks over at Tsubaki and something shifts in her eyes. She sees it; a small blue orb – just floating. It's not got a face, but it's smiling, somehow. It's trustworthy. Kind. A little sad, sure.

"Hey, I think I can see your soul, Tsu," she says mirthfully, observing the rather pleasing-looking object. Maka's eyes crinkle at the edges. "I didn't realise that was a thing. Does that mean that I'm becoming a better meister?"

Tsubaki stares. "Maka, wait," she takes in a sharp breath. "You... you can _see_ my soul?"

"I think so…" Maka trails off, realising that the blue orb has disappeared. "No, it's faded now. But I'm _pretty_ sure that was it. A second ago, I just… I don't know, it felt like you…"

"What did it look like?" Tsubaki asks, a sudden sense of urgency gripping her tone and facial expressions.

"It was sort of… blue, and. I don't know, this is stupid…" she sighs and shrugs. "It had a like, _kind_ aura. I don't know. Sympathetic. It was smiling, but... like, a tiny bit sad..."

Tsubaki's eyes widen, and she grabs Maka's hand, scrambling up from where they're sitting on the grassy knoll. "C'mon, follow me."

Maka trails along after her, bemused. "What?" she asks, confused. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to see Professor Stein," she pauses. "Maka... see another persons soul is incredible _rare,"_ she breathes, her voice full of wonder _. "_ The Professor... he's the only other person who can see them."

* * *

"Do we have any of that fruit syrup left…?" Soul wonders, peering at his transparent water bottle with a little disappointment. "This tastes like fresh blood."

"It's the minerals," Black Star responds, his voice dull. "From boiling it. And no, we don't. I used up the last of it yesterday."

"Shit."

The two boys sit atop their black SUV; parked on a street just by the edge of the town of Salem, Massachusetts. They haven't ventured into the actual town yet – both exhausted from waking nights and entire days of nothing but travelling, fighting, and hiding.

Black Star sits with his legs dangling down the side of the vehicle, staring at the compass in one hand; the other one stretched out and scratching Blair behind the ears as she satisfactorily purrs. Soul sits cross-legged, cigarette dangling from his fingers and spitting out curls of smoke.

"You don't smoke," Black Star tells him. "That's terrible for your O2 uptake. God, Soul, it's like you don't _want_ to get super buff like me…"

"Who cares?" Soul reasons. "If the witches catch us, we're as _good_ as dead."

Black Star snorts. "Why are you assuming that we're going to get caught? Listen, Blair can put a spell on you to make you undetectable. And I have ninja magic. We'll be fine."

Soul shakes his head. "Excuse me for not having more faith in _that_ crackpot scheme."

"Well, think of it like this. You'll need all your lung capacity if you're going to be running for your life tomorrow," Black Star grins. "Besides, chicks hate guys who smoke."

Soul chooses to ignore this.

"What's our plan?" he asks, instead. "Just bust in there?"

"No, asshole. We're just going to scope out the place…" Black Star shrugs. "I seriously think there's witches here, dude. I can smell them."

"You can smell them," Soul rolls his eyes, sighing. "Well, that's great then. Can you smell us a way to kill all the zombies and witches and save the world, then?"

Black Star guffaws, slapping Soul on the back, hard, causing the boy to splutter. "You're funny. You're a funny guy, Soul. I never realised that about you."

"Gee, thanks..."

"You need to work on not being such a Debbie Downer all the time, though dude. Shit, I don't know how Maka put up with you the whole time it was just you guys."

Soul scowls, and decides not to dignify that with a response. Instead, he changes the subject to their plan. "So, what are we doing? We gonna hide out somewhere for the evening, get some food?" he wonders, looking behind him at the small town. "I think I saw a couple houses that didn't look too raided. We could even try and hit up the 7/11. Who knows, we might get lucky...?"

"If you do, get Blair more of those canned kippers, please!" Blair pipes up, making Black Star jump in his skin a little.

"They make the whole van smell like _rotten asshole_ ," he grumbles. "But fuck it. Fine. We'll do what we can," he replies, warily eyeing up their feline companion. "You _are_ helping us out, I guess. Even thought you're a stupid cat."

Soul rifles through a book that he had swiped from the tourist centre, when they had first entered this godforsaken town. He flicks to page four and finds a kitschy little map of the town, in faded ink, and points at the centre. "Look at that," he says.

Black Star does so, but doesn't seem too impressed. "Uh..."

Soul scoffs. "It's called the Witch House," he comments drily. "Look, there's a footnote here," he reads. "The Witch House is the only remaining structure with ties to the Salem Witch Trials of 1692," he reads aloud, and then laughs. "Hell, you don't think...?"

"That's tourist shit, Soul," Black Star chuckles. "We can check it out, but they'd have to be pretty stupid to hide out there."

"In plain sight, I guess?" Soul hums, folding up the map and placing it to the side of him, leaning back on his elbows. "What do you think, Blair?"

She hums in thought and rubs her face against Black Star's hips. "Sounds like Blair's kind of place," she smiles. "I like places with a lot of history."

Soul sighs. "I mean, how sure are we that we're even in the right place? The right _town_? They're _witches_ , for Death's sake. They're probably leading us into some horrible trap, or something. I can feel it."

Black Star shakes his head and signals to the compass, pointing it in Soul's face. "Look at it. This _has_ to be the right place."

"Unless Blair's fucking with it again," Soul replies pointedly.

Black Star swivels his head to face the cat which is curled up in his lap. "Hey Blair," he says, poking her in the back. "Are you fucking with us again?" he wonders.

"Nyaaa~" she yawns. "Give me fish and I'll tell you…"

"No bullshit, Blair, if you're fucking with us…" Black Star trails off, trying to think of a punishment suitable for a cat. "I'm going to give you the longest, most horrible bath of your life."

Blair purrs. "Sounds great. Will you boys be joining…?"

Soul scowls at Black Star. " _Why_ did you offer her a _bath_?" he groans. "She's never going to shut up about that, now."

"I thought cats hated baths!"

" _Cats_ do! But Blair's not a cat, she's a pervert. And perverts _love_ baths."

"You _wound_ me, Soul-kun," Blair shakes her head rapidly, her ears twitching. "I didn't hear you complaining when you spent several months getting up to all sorts of _mischief -_ "

"Oh, God, would you shut up-" Soul begins to snap back, but Black Star puts a single finger in the air and all three of them fall immediately quiet.

Through the surprised silence, Black Star whispers something. "You guys hear that?" he mouths, his ears practically pricking up like a dog.

Soul blinks and attunes his ears to the silence of the countryside. After a while, he begins to hear it, too. Black Star is right – in the distance, there's a faint rumbling sound. Like… a stampede. "What is that?" he wonders aloud. "Should we run, or...?"

"Is it _zombies_?" Black Star's eyes flash serious for a second, and he jumps off the car roof. Looking down at the compass in his hand, he suddenly realises that that the light on it has changed color – it's gone from bright crimson to a dark red, and the dial is going _crazy_. His skin prickles and he signals for his companion to join him as he slams into the front seat, a second from twisting the keys in the ignition. "We gotta get out of here. Now."

"No!" Soul stops him from turning on the engine, his eyes wide. "We should stay."

Black Star cranes his neck round and looks at his friend like he's gone crazy. "Uh… _what_? And get swarmed by a horde of furious witches?" he scratches his head. "No thanks. Move, idiot. I'm gonna start this thing."

Blair watches the situation unfold, her eyes intrigued. She purrs in delight. "Which one of these handsome alpha males should I listen to?" she wonders aloud, earning her a glare from Soul.

"Not now, Blair," Soul hisses, standing his ground as he turns back to Black Star. "Listen, Star. Blair said they can't sense us when she's cast her Soul Protect. I say we just hide out and see what the commotion is," he pauses. "C'mon, it's better than fleeing, and risking them hearing the car engine."

Blair clears her throat and shrugs as both boys turn to face her, demandingly. "Well… I haven't got an extraordinarily strong Soul Protect. It'll work at a distance. But if a powerful witch comes close enough, they'll be able to sniff you out."

"We've made it this far. We're so close," Soul argues. He sees Black Star begin to question himself, so he backs away. "Come on, get in the back of the truck. We'll wait for it to pass. And then we'll find somewhere to rest for the night."

Black Star pushes his mop of blue hair back from his scalp with one hand, clearly stressed. " _Fuck_ ," he says, clearly frustrated. "Fuck it, fine. Have it your way."

The three of them scramble into the back, Blair still in her cat form. It's dirty back here; all bags of supplies and weapons, mud and dust. There's not too much room, either, so they end up cramped in together, elbows and knees and feet all kicking around until they find a stillness.

lack Star lies flat on his stomach, every so often peeking his head over the top of the window to see if there's anything happening outside. Soul crouches by the right hand door. The safety on his gun is off and his finger is hovering over the trigger.

They hear the noise get louder and louder; more and more close. After a while, even Blair gets scared. The silence inside the back of the truck is broken by the faint sound of her purring; comforting herself.

And then, in the distance - it happens.

It doesn't stay in the distance for long. Once it breaks the horizon, everything starts to happen quickly around them.

It's like being in a car wash; everything is moving. Leagues and leagues and _leagues_ of zombies. Men; women; children; even dogs. There's more than Soul or Black Star have ever seen before, all of them stampeding across the town like crazed animals. Some of them still have their bodies fairly intact, some of them with their flesh falling off their faces - scattered to the wind - as they run.

The noise is horrifying. The screeches; the guttural yelling; the drumming of bare footsteps thumping against tarmacked road and earth.

In the back of the truck, all three travellers stay down, mostly, their guns cocked. Soul knows it's pointless - even if they had wanted to shoot – they wouldn't know what to shoot _at_. There wouldn't be enough ammo, enough time, enough anything. But it's comforting, having the weight of a gun in your hands.

They're impotent; totally. All they can do is sit and watch and wait for the onslaught to pass.

Soul shares a horrified glance with Black Star, both of them thinking the same thing - _what the_ _fuck_?

It seems like it's never-ending, but it does pass, eventually. It takes its sweet time – Soul thinks that there has to have been what, a _thousand_? More?

He's never seen them run so fast, either. Their legs had been twisting all over the place, bones probably all cracked from malnourishment but somehow… they had been _sprinting_. Like they were chasing something.

No sign of any witch, either.

The whole thing had been profoundly disquieting, and there's a long silence after the very last few stragglers pass them. Nobody in that truck particularly wants to be the first person to speak, but Soul decides to break that ice. "That was bad," he says, redundantly.

Black Star stares after the last few, the dust and mayhem left in their wake. "Where do you think they were headed?"

"Oh, fuck," Soul swears. "Check the compass."

Black Star pulls the thing dutifully out of his pocket and they both stare at it for a little while. "East." There's a pause. "Do you think…? Do you think they were heading to Shibusen?"

Soul rubs his face with his hands, his eyes slammed shut; hard. "Shit," he says. "Get the phone."

Black Star blinks and cocks his head to the side. "The phone?"

Soul holds out his hand. "The _phone_ , for fuck's sake, Star. Give it to me."

Black Star rummages through one of his pockets, dropping the heavy, brick-like cellphone in his hand like it's scorching hot. "You're going to call Kid…" he realises. " _Shit_. Rather you than me..." he pauses. "Do we have enough bars? Enough battery?"

Soul shrugs. "We have to at least _try,_ for fuck's sake."

He doesn't say what he's really thinking.

_Maka's there. Maka's there. Maka's there._

He dials the only number on the phone and waits with it next to his ear. It rings eight times. A nice, even number. Soul briefly wonders if maybe Kid had planned that – sitting in his office, waiting for the phone to ring eight times before picking up.

But he does.

"Hello," his cold voice snaps out, quicker than Soul.

"Kid, something happened," he starts, gritting out his words quickly – he doesn't know how long he's going to be able to hold this call for, after all. "Thousands of zombies. I think... they might be heading to Shibusen," he says, speaking in clips. "Something is happening, Kid."

There's a muffle, and a crackle on the other end of the line. Soul's eyes stare ahead searchingly, trying to hear any kind of response – something to let him know that Kid has heard him.

He only hears the following in between crackling, before the line goes dead:

"Moon. Red. Medusa... has escaped."


End file.
